Sweet Venom
by ZaaaR
Summary: Tom Riddle could conquer anything, conquerable or not. So how is it that Harry Potter kept slipping through his fingers? TRHP, SLASH, AU
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer; If I owned anything, I wouldn't be here.

Warnings; SLASH, AU, Rating may change.

Summary; Tom Riddle could conquer anything, conquerable or not. So how is it that Harry Potter kept slipping through his fingers? TRHP, SLASH, AU.

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Prologue ;

Lights flashed continuously, following the beat of the song. Red and blue and green and yellow blinked continuously, following the addictive beat of the song. Bodies were mashed close together, sweaty and slick.

Couples had tongues down each other's throats, hands groping and legs tangled as the night wore on and their liquor consumption increased. The bartender flirted with the drunk customers, eyes hungry as they surveyed their work place.

Truly, they all thought, this was the best place to earn money.

**TellATale** was a well known dance club, having the most scandalous reputation in Manhattan. Celebrities and common folk mingled, never having to worry over who was who and such.

Music blared through the speakers, amplified and ringing in ears.

Tom Riddle surveyed the room, dark eyes intense and observant. He must've spotted what he was looking for as his eyes brightened and he strode with purpose across the floor. The tall man slapped away the groping hands distractedly as he made his way to the object of his attention.

There, leaning against the counter was a very striking man. He looked to be quite young, probably just out of high school. He was not as tall as Tom—though hardly anyone was—but had long lean legs and a slender body. He was messy black hair that fell just to the nape of his neck. His face was heart shaped and tanned a beautiful bronze colour that girls would have killed to have.

Tom couldn't see much detail beyond that but he could always tell his type. And this one—was definitely his type.

He came closer, slowing down and straightening the blue long sleeved shirt he had picked for the night. He coughed into his hand, smoothing his voice before he slid into the stool next to the black haired stranger.

"Well, hello," he purred, letting his British accent come through, knowing how sexy an accent could be.

The stranger turned to him, and though he didn't feel his breath catch in his throat or sweat slide down his temple, Tom Riddle could, without a shadow of a doubt, say that he was more than a little excited.

The stranger had the greenest eyes he had ever seen. They were filled with mistrust and suspicion but beautiful all the same. Tom let his gaze travel downwards, to a pert nose and full pink lips. _Definitely my type._

He got himself together within that second and shot the stranger a seductive grin. "Tom," he held out his hand, anticipating the feel of the stranger's skin against his. Even if was only their palms. "Jack," the stranger replied, though he didn't take the offered hand.

Tom let it slide, the night was young and before it was over, he was sure he'd be able to get this fine piece of meat into his bed.

He leaned forwards in his seat, touching his lips to the other man's ear, breath warm as he spoke. "How 'bout we get out of here?"

He smirked confidently. No one had refused him before, even when he wasn't being charming. But now, with his Riddle-Charm practically oozing off of him, there was no possible way—

"I think I'll pass," Tom took a moment to admire the soft voice before being distinctly offended. _No one _refused him.

He didn't let himself be deterred though. Determined to have this man warming his bed tonight, Tom plastered a smile on his face though he silently raged at the rejection. "Are you sure?" he whispered, making sure to drag his lips down the supple neck that was presented to him, intentionally or not.

Jack pushed him away, eyes flashing before dimming down again. "I told you, I'm not interested," he said, getting off the stool. Jack had a British accent, not bothering to hide it as he again rejected the taller man.

Tom glowered silently. But before he could pull more of his _suave _moves, a loud voice called out to Jack. "Harry! Mate, you okay there?" Wait a minute, Harry? Tom looked around but only saw a red head, who must've been the owner of the loud voice, focusing on Jack. Now that couldn't be right.

The red head approached them quickly, eyes worried. When he got to Jack, he put a protective hand on the green eyed male's his shoulder. "Alright?"

Tom sneered, eyes narrowing on the appendage before narrowing onto the owner the offending limb. Now this man was tall. Almost as tall as him though not even close to as good looking. Tom turned his dark eyes back to Jack, raising an eyebrow.

"Harry?"

Jack, now revealed as Harry shrugged. "I don't give out names to strangers," he said, patting the freckled hand still on his shoulder. The red head blushed before pulling his hand away, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.

Hum.

"Apparently your friend does," Tom mocked. He couldn't help the jab that came automatically. It was as if it was programmed into his system.

Harry glanced at him uninterested and Tom felt himself bristle. He had never been on the receiving end of one of those glances. Usually it was either in heartbreak or lust or utter love. Never were they uninterested.

Harry shrugged his shoulders again, "Doesn't matter much anyway, does it?" He didn't wait for Tom's reply as he pulled his red headed friend away and onto the dance floor. He and his friend pushed their way through to the middle of the dancers, swaying and jumping to the beat.

Tom stared at them stoically, mind still processing the fact that he had been rejected. _Twice. _He knew he wasn't losing his touch, there was just no way. Why, just this morning he had shagged one of the most sexually challenged woman in his office. She was a great lay, no doubt. After all, he only went with the best.

And this Harry, my, he seemed like the best of the best and Tom wanted him. Tom licked his lips, desire pure on his face.

He watched enraptured as Harry swayed his hips, bodies close to him but never touching. Even that friend of his, the red head, wasn't allowed too close. He would move away slightly if someone tried to force their way into his little personal bubble and that was utterly fine with Tom.

The black t-shirt that Harry wore rode up his stomach a bit, giving viewers a teasing look at the toned abs that he was sure everyone wanted a taste of. Sweat ran down his neck, leaving a trail, and disappearing into the collar of the t-shirt, and Tom was sure he'd never seen someone sweat so sexily.

The green eyed male's hips moved left and right, left and right. It didn't look as if he were trying too hard, rather it made him look like he was too good for simple R&B music.

The sweat soaked black hair was thrown around his head carelessly, looking like he'd just got shagged and Tom wanted to be the person that shagged him. Harry's eyes were closed, a soft expression on his face. It was different than the indifferent one he has shown Tom and Tom wondered how many masks this one man had.

He felt the need to get to know all of them.

Determined, he took a glass from a seated customer, ignoring his indignant yell and drowned the alcohol in a single shot. He stood to his full height, straightened his shoulders, and pushed through the dancing crowd.

Halfway through, a woman wearing almost nothing with far too much make up stumbled into his side, grasping his arm tightly. She was clearly drunk, eyes unfocused and legs trembling. Tom scowled. This trash was holding him back from a very, very beautiful jewel that needed devouring.

He tried pushing her off, not putting much effort into it, she was drunk after all. Apparently though, there were strong drunks as she kept a tight grip around his bicep. His scowl deepened.

"Tom," she slurred. " 'member me, Tom? Y—you said you," she looked deep into his face, though he was sure she wasn't in the right state of mind to do anything but run her mouth. "Loved me," he snorted. No wonder she seemed so familiar.

"Let go, Bellatrix," he demanded, tugging his arm away. She kept hold of him however. "No! You stupid man! I love you!" she cried, mascara smudged and sliding down her cheeks.

Tom looked around. It seemed they had attracted quite a crowd. Though the majority of people were dutily ignoring them, there were a few who seemed to have nothing better to do.

Or got stood up.

He glanced off further to the side, towards where he last saw Harry dancing. The little minx paid him and the drama that was taking place next to no attention. Tom frowned.

He was quite something, this Harry. No one had resisted him, not even the coldest of the coldest. But here, a mere punk, barely an adult, a little green vixen was giving him the cold shoulder.

Tom's pride took another hit.

He sighed tiredly at Bellatrix. "Why don't you wait outside, Bella?" His cold eyes gave her the once over. She was much thinner than she used to be, though her bust seemed to have not lost anything. Her skin was a sickly pale and underneath al l the cosmetics he was sure to bet that she was carrying a load of eye bags.

She nodded enthusiastically, drunk eyes brightening in hope. Mentally Tom berated himself. How did he get caught up in such a psycho. When he took her to bed, she was merely someone he could play with from time to time.

It was always like that. Tom Riddle was a fuck 'em and leave 'em kind of guy. He had no excuses and he gave none. He was in America now, and wasn't America a free country?

Thankfully, she left, stumbling and cursing as she made her way outside. He didn't follow.

Tom straightened his shirt again, sighing. He pushed through the disappointed crowd waiting for some drama and the music seemed to get louder, pounding into his ears. When he finally got through the worst of the crowd, Tom felt his blood boil.

Harry had his arms around the neck of a blonde stranger, their bodies practically glued together. They swayed in time with the beat and Tom felt a flair of jealousy in his chest. What was so different from him and this low class vermin? Admittedly the blonde was good looking but Tom was sure that he beat the blonde to the ground.

So then, what?

He gritted his teeth before approaching them quickly. Harry had his back to him, and the stranger's head was bent and buried into Harry neck. As he got closer, the blonde lifted his head from the crook of the black haired man's neck, and raised an eyebrow.

Tom felt his irritation blaze. Who did he think he was?

And the blonde had the gall to smirk at him, running his pale hands up and down Harry's side.

Harry was still oblivious to all this as he danced with his smirking partner. Electricity of the not positive kind sizzled between Tom and blondie and only heated up to another degree when the blonde ran his tongue teasingly along the column of Harry's neck, still smirking.

Tom lost himself. He lunged forward, snatching Harry away and off to the side, where he lay on his arse, dazed. The blonde had his own angry frown at the interruption and Tom took the opportunity to lay a well aimed fist straight into the blonde's straight nose.

Well, it won't be so straight anymore, Tom thought viciously.

He was knocked off his pedestal when the blonde quickly recovered from the shock of being socked in the face and aimed a kick to Tom's unprotected stomach. People stopped dancing and gathered around them, each cheering and chanting as the two circled each other.

He saw Harry somewhere in the sea of people, face unreadable. He was tempted to wave cheerily but didn't want to risk getting kicked again while his guard was down.

The blonde had a strong leg, he'd give him that.

His eyes shifted from the blonde to his left, then to his right. He took a double take as he spotted two heavily built bouncer's make their way towards him. Well, let it never be said that Tom Riddle was a coward, but he knew when to put up a white flag. Besides, his strategies were much more . . . underhanded.

He gave a bow to the tense blonde, no doubt ready should Tom choose to go on the offense. Lucky for him, luck wasn't very generous with Tom tonight.

Rejection and a bruised stomach. No, luck was definitely a bitter little thing.

Quickly, he twisted through the gathered crowd—some of which had resumed dancing and dry humping when they realized no action would be going on (clearly they were disappointed) —pleased that the bouncers were far too big to give them much agility or stealth. Or they could be doing that on purpose, just to intimidate him. From where he was, they looked clumsy and disorganized as they tried to get to him.

Tom walked out of the club and onto the street, where the city bustled even at this late hour. Though not many cars came around this part of the block, there were many that were parked along the streets. They must've belonged to some of the partiers back inside.

He could hear horns and screeches and police sirens. Someone was always getting arrested over at New York City. Or dying. Dead or in jail, that's how it works.

Lucky for him—seems like luck had mercy for the man—Bellatrix was nowhere to be seen. She must've gotten tired of waiting. Or perhaps she passed out. She did look pretty wasted, Tom mused.

Not that he really cared, it was just curiosity. He might need a bed partner now that he'd lost track of the green eyed vixen.

His mouth watered at the image of the tanned body writhing beneath him. Tom shook his head. Riddles do not drool no matter how delicious the challenge.

And this is what it was. To get Harry was a challenge, and Tom welcomed challenges. It had been such a long time since the last one, and even that was a mere walk in the park. He'd decided.

He wouldn't rest until he had Harry's heart in his hand. He didn't know why he was so fixated on the other man. Perhaps it was because people always wanted what they couldn't have. He didn't know and he didn't care. He got what he wanted. And he wanted a certain green eyed, bronze skinned man.

"A bit young to be thinking so hard, no?" Tom whirled around, prepared to flee should the person have been one of the bouncers. However, he was pleasantly surprised to find that the object of his thoughts stood directly in front of him, nursing a glass of wine.

Tom smirked. Nevermind that Harry hadn't seemed interested back in the club, he was here now, and Tom was going to take full advantage of it.

He slithered up to the man, and slipped strong arms around the trim waist. "Couldn't help me, could you?" He sounded arrogant, he knew, but sometimes arrogance was the way to go. People wanted you more when you were confident, and Tom was more than confident.

Especially in bed.

Harry tilted his head up, and Tom was reminded of the kitten he used to have as a child. It died.

"My friend had a bloody nose."

What?

Oh, the blonde.

"He's pretty upset. It's all crooked now," Harry pouted. "And I liked it so much." Tom stared at the man. It seemed like Harry had taken a complete 360.

"Well, perhaps he should learn to keep his hands to himself," Tom retorted once getting over the slightly worrisome attitude change.

What if Harry was another one of those mentally unstable people? The one's that Tom always seemed to pick out. Maybe it was a sign.

"—broken," Harry glared at him.

Oops. Looks like he turned more than he should have. His gaze went back to the full lips and he felt all his blood flow downwards when a pink tongue peeked out. Harry definitely knew what reaction he was getting from the taller man if his expression had anything to say about it.

Now, hold up. Tom was the seducer, not the seduced.

Eyes glinting, the dark eyed man leaned down slightly, tilting his head as he looked into bright eyes. He dropped his gaze briefly to the tempting lips and up into Harry's green eyes again.

"Do you feel bad?" Tom whispered. The only sounds were slightly muted beats from the club and the cars at the other side of the block. Things had started to die down and Tom was surprised to find how much time had gone by.

"A little bit," he whispered back, just as soft against Tom's open lips. Tom shivered.

Tom slipped a tongue into Harry's mouth, closing his eyes. He felt Harry's lashes flutter against his cheeks and he deepened the kiss.

There were no fireworks and there weren't any birds singing.

But he knew this one would take time to get bored with.

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TBC.

Okay, I have no idea if there's even a club called TellATale. I made it up and it's so lame I find myself cringing. But I just had to give the club a name, so when I think of something better, I'll make sure to change it!

I've only ever been to NYC once, so please don't expect me to go into details about it. ;/

Suggestions are welcome since the plot of this TRHP fic isn't definite.

OH, please review, and let me know if I should continue on!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer; If I owned anything, I wouldn't be here.

Warnings; SLASH, AU.

A/N; Orite, I've changed the rating. Just incase. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it! ^^

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The heated kiss ended much too fast and too soon for Tom. Before he knew it, Harry had pulled away and was making distance between him and Tom. He had a smirk on his face, eyes twinkling under the lamp lights.

"Well," Harry had a thoughtful face. "That's was fun, I suppose."

Suppose? _Suppose? _No, that was simply unacceptable. Kissing Tom Riddle had no '_supposes'._They were always, definitely, without a doubt, _fun._

And many other things that aren't PG.

"Don't act like you didn't want it," Tom purred, suddenly lustful again.

"Oh, I did," Harry said, hands behind his back, innocently.

That's more like it, Tom thought. "Just not anymore," He grinned before dashing off.

No _bloody _way.

Tom allowed himself no time to think as he dashed for Harry.

Tom chased after him, long legs giving him an advantage. But Harry was smaller and had knack for ducking and twisting. That was irritating. Their moving shadows danced across the brick walls, fast and swift.

Wind brushed against Tom's face, and he could feel his heart pumping. Blood rushed in his ears but he was determined not to fall behind. To motivate himself, he kept his eyes fixed on that delicious bottom he'd soon get a re-taste of when this childishness ended.

For the meantime though, he decided he'd humor the little minx. After all, he was sure he'd want seconds. And he'd make it absolutely impossible for Harry to get enough of him.

A brilliant plan, if he did say so himself.

The green eyed man made a sudden turn, snapping the older man from his thoughts, his body disappearing behind a wall, and Tom sped up.

They had gone deeper into the alleys and quite a bit out of the way from the night club. It was eerily quiet, unusual for the big city that never seemed to bloody sleep. Rubbish littered the ground and the walls were vandalized. Above him, flats were silent and lights switched off.

Tom made the same turn as Harry and paused when he could no longer see the younger man. In front of him was a bloody maze. There were turns everywhere, left and right and left to the right and right to the left.

He wondered which way Harry would have gone, but found no clues.

He looked into each alleyway, hoping to catch a glimpse of a moving body. He found none.

He wouldn't give up though, and taking a deep breath, Tom chose the closest turn. He walked silently, not wanting his footsteps to alert Harry as to where he was. He wanted to surprise the man.

To make sure he wouldn't get lost and be able to find his way back again, Tom scratched a T onto the walls every few meter's with the pocket knife he was never without. It was simple and sharp and he was glad he finally found a use for it.

A soft footstep made him pause.

He'd already gone deep into the alley, it's walls high and menacing. It was dirty and dusty and Tom wanted to sanitize himself, but thought it better to do so later, when he was sure to stay clean.

The footsteps came closer, and Tom tensed. If it was mugger he'd shove the arsehole against the wall and gut him but if it was Harry, he'd push him up the wall for entirely different reasons. . .

"You shouldn't be daydreaming, who knows what could happen?" Tom felt a shiver rake through his body. The voice breathed into his ear, and a warm body pressed against his back, hands on his shoulder for leverage.

Tom spun around, gripped the thin wrist and pulled that very body close.

"Maybe I want things to happen?"

Harry smiled happily, almost giddy. What a complete change, Tom mused. First cold and indifferent, then cute and cuddly, now, he was like a _bubbly _cheerleader_._

What is _wrong _with this boy?

But when Harry pushed his hips closer to Toms, barely a hair width apart yet too far for Tom, the older man decided he didn't mind so much anymore.

"To~m, let's go back to your home!" Harry bounced on his toes, face cracked open by the blinding grin on his face.

"Uh—," Tom was speechless. Was he a bipolar lunatic?

"Tom! Tom! Tom!" Yeah, definitely.

"What're you doing here anyway? It's _dirty~!_" What? He was the one who ran into the bloody alley maze.

Eventually though, Tom's libido got the better of him. He wanted to get laid. And he would get laid. Tonight.

He let Harry pull him out of the alley, following the T's he had geniusly thought of. They made far too much noise, well Harry did, but Tom was with him, while they walked. Tom was tempted to just take the boy where he stood but he still had his sense of class even if he sometimes acted otherwise.

So he followed obediently, something he was sure he'd have never done a couple of hours ago.

When they could finally breathe fresh, clean air, Tom tugged Harry back against his chest. "My car's parked up ahead," his voice caressed Harry's ears, seductive and low.

Harry turned in his arms, looping his own slim ones around Tom's neck.

"Let's."

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They ended up taking a cab back to Tom's apartment, unable to concentrate on thinking with a tongues down each other's throat, much less drive.

The cab driver looked interested, curious and disgusted. How someone could do that was a mystery to Tom but the thought didn't go any further when Harry did thing with his tongue and _oh._

They stumbled out of the cab, still connected at the lips and Tom shoved a few hundred dollar bills into a very pleased cab driver's hand. The man looked at the green notes with something akin to awe, like he'd just discovered the means of curing cancer.

Greedy man.

They stepped into the elevator, the sound of screeching tyre's distant to their ears. Tom curled possessively arms around Harry's slimmer body and hands went straight to groping the delicious arse that he just couldn't get enough of.

Harry moaned into his mouth, eyes closed in pleasure.

They heard the ding of the elevator and stumbled into the hall. Their heavy breathing filled the empty hallways, as they separated for what seemed to feel like hours so that Tom could fumble with the locks.

Their eyes were heavy lidded and filled with uncontrollable lust. The door clicked open and they wasted no more time. Harry was shoved against wall and Tom kicked the doors shut with his foot. The door slammed and they'd probably get plenty of complaints from Tom's neighbors but neither paid it any mind.

Harry's lips were attacked viciously as Tom gripped his hips to pull him closer. Harry groaned in both pleasure and pain. The two intertwined men didn't bother to on the lights as they made their way into the bed room.

For the rest of the night, only the sounds of skin slapping skin and loud moans accompanied by animalistic growls could be heard.

Next door, an old man died of a heart attack.

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Tom stretched lazily, muscles popping. He blinked slowly, letting his eyes adjust to the intruding light. A quick glance to the digital clock on the table determined that it was already twelve in the afternoon.

His head spun and feeling like he was forgetting something he reached out his hand to the empty spot on his left. It was cold. Why was it cold?

Harry. Harry!

Tom shot up, features twisting in anger. He left. That bloody cocksucker _left._

He flung the covers off his nude form and bent to quickly pull his clothes on. He went commando for the moment and stalked out of his room, intent on inspecting every inch of his apartment for the green eyed man.

He looked everywhere for a note, scribble, piece of clothing, anything at all but came out with nothing.

He slumped onto the couch. Leaning his head back, Tom stared passively onto the spinning fan hanging from the ceiling.

What was he getting so worked up for anyway? He hadn't bothered with past lovers, he hadn't spared them a glance after the night was over.

Then again, he was always the one to kick them out. They never left of their own accord. So this was a change. Definitely not a welcome one, but a change nonetheless.

He closed his eyes, already imagining the way Harry looked only a few hours ago. The sounds he made were music to his ears. It felt so right, the way they melded together, the way Harry fisted his hair at the very. . .

Damn. Now he had a boner.

Harry was a gem, Tom concluded. And it was obvious that Harry didn't think very highly of him.

Well he'd change that.

As soon as he tracked down his minx and made long, strenuous, pleasurable. . .

Boner.

Double damn. Think Dumbledore. Dumbledore in a bikini. Dumbledore and McGonagall in a bikini. Bright pink flowery bikini's.

Tom sighed. Problem solved. Unfortunately, the image burned into his retina.

Crap, now he was going to get nightmares.

Alright, Harry. Think Harry in a bikini.

Back to square one. Tom groaned as he got off the couch. He made his way to the bathroom, ready to get rid of a certain problem.

Half an hour later, a refreshed Tom Riddle stepped out of the bathroom. He was properly dressed; black slacks, formal white shirt underneath a form fitting blazer and shiny shoes and also cleaned of any evidence pointing to his nightly activities.

He picked up a suitcase from his room, giving the place a sweep of his eyes. It was a mess, everything was thrown about, pillows and blankets and clothes and even a table was overturned (how'd that happen?). He made a mental note to call Dobby to tidy up, his servant was always pleased to please and Tom thought he had much too much free time on his wrinkled hands.

He didn't know if he was in either a bad mood or good one. He was displeased and more than a little offended that Harry had left without leaving even a thanks for what would have been his most glorious night or a phone number to contact . . . to keep those glorious nights coming.

The other part of him, the part that thrived on thrills and adventure was over the moon at finally meeting someone worthy of even a glimmer of his attention. Harry was unlike any other. Tom wanted that. He wanted to control and posses that. The thought of Harry warming another's bed was infuriating.

Tom managed to convince himself that he was not pining. He just wanted a little oomph to his life. He hadn't had such luck for years and now, out of the blue, a messy haired, delectable and at the same time infuriating (only because he managed to ruffle all of Tom's feathers) man came swaggering into his sight. He wouldn't let that go. Not just yet. Not until he'd gotten his fill.

Harry brought with him seduction and mystery. Tom wanted to know him inside out. He wanted to know every crease and crevice. He wanted to know every mask and feeling Harry was capable of.

He intrigued Tom. Also with his bipolar attitude . . . Tom was sure not a day would be boring with the younger man.

Tom shook his head, too much thinking.

He closed his apartment door, making sure to double lock it. He stepped into the elevator, completely ignoring the white haired man in a stretcher beside him.

"Want a smoke?"

Tom sneered at the paramedic, eyes narrowing. The man held his hands up in mock surrender, forgetting that he was suppose to be holding on to one side of a stretcher.

Tom calmly exited the elevator, ears deaf to the noises behind him.

"Earl! You don't drop a dead man!"

"I forgot! Honest!"

He strode to his parking spot, only to find it completely void of his very expensive, very precious Ferrari. His mind went temporarily blank, on the bridge of a mental breakdown before he remembered that he'd left it at the club in the midst of a heavy make out session.

He sighed tiredly. Looks like he'd have to take the tube.

How he hated the tube. Dirty and unclean. . . and dirty.

He walked briskly out of the parking lot, and onto the street. It was already bustling with people. They were on their phones, blackberries, portable laptops (yes, while walking. 'cause it's New York and New York's cool like that). He went with the flow.

Pulling out his phone, he made a quick call to his secretary, telling her to fetch his car for him. She complained, saying that it wasn't her job to look after such things but he shut her up quick.

Who was the one paying her? Him. So she did as she was told, however reluctantly.

He had a feeling that she would end up calling someone to call someone else to pick it up but he couldn't care less. As long as it was picked up, he was happy. Well, as happy as he could be.

He only had to walk a couple of minutes before reaching the closest tube station. He avoided touching anything and anything as he got on the tube. It was packed and he couldn't shift away from the brushing shoulders. A rather bold woman placed her manicured hand on his chest but a quick glare from him made the offending hand shrink away.

He spared her no other glance as he exited, the tube having already reached his destination.

As quick as he could, Tom hurried out, not wanting to spend another moment in there.

A tall building on the other side of the road towered overhead. It was almost menacing, all grey and black. In large gold letter's, it spelled 'D.E Corporation'.

Tom crossed the road, ignoring the chatters around him. He walked though the automatic glass doors almost robotically. "Hello, ho--," his secretary paused as he passed her. "Tube?" She asked.

"Tube."

She raised an eyebrow. "Right, you left your car at a club." He ignored her as well as he took the elevator to the top floor; his office.

D.E Corporation dealt with transported goods. They took care of shipping's and was considered one of best in the industry. Tom had inherited the company from his father, who at that time was not very successful. It had given to Tom only a few years ago and already he had improved beyond his father's expectations.

Now if only the old man was here to see it.

Tom sat comfortably on his plush wheeled chair. His office overlooked the city, which from all the way up here looked rather magnificent. The people looked like ants and Tom loved the feeling of seeing them so small. Of course, it was a different story when he was on the ground with them.

The spacious room was actually quiet plain, only decorated with a few paintings and plants. The linked his fingers together and laid his chin on them, elbows on the wooden table.

His mind resumed its course onto the enigma that was Harry. He hadn't asked for a last name, not expecting the early leave. So how was he supposed to track the man down?

A catch like this needed more effort and attention.

Tom switched on his computer, typed in the password and waited for it to load. As soon as it was done loading, he opened up a tab. Typing in Facebook, he could already feel the embarrassment of such a desperate act bite at his heart.

But he simply had to do something. So for the better part of the hour, he went through profile after profile, searching for 'Harry.' None of them held a candle to the Harry he was looking for.

Jenny poked a head into the room, "Don't forget about the dinner tonight." He waved her off.

"I'm serious. It's really important, many of your business partners will be there and they're expecting you to show up."

Without looking at her he replied, albeit snappily, "I think I'd know what's important and what's not."

She huffed and left, murmuring obscenities at him. Perhaps he should fire her. That was no way too talk about your boss. Even if he was being difficult. She had a right to worry. It wouldn't be the first time he blew off a business dinner. But not this one, this one actually was important. It would determine his rise and fall in the shipping industry.

So he pushed Harry out of his mind. Well, tried to.

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Tom adjusted his tie for the nth time. He wasn't nervous, no, just extremely uncomfortable. The five star restaurant, despite its air conditioning felt stuffy to Tom. He kept tapping his foot, hoping time would fly, as it did when he usually never wanted it to. What a bitch.

He kept a pleasant smile on his face however, nodding to the talkative old men around him.

"Tom my boy," Tom was _who's _boy? "Everything's going great and I must say I am very, very impressed," He couldn't remember the man's name, that was usually Jenny's job. But he thanked the man anyways.

The conversations carried on like that and eventually Tom excused himself. The bathroom was just as glorious as the rest of the place. The tiles shone and the mirrors practically sparkled. Tom nodded his approval. Hopefully they'd make public toilets something like this. He immediately snorted to himself at the thought. That wasn't happening anytime soon.

He washed his face, hoping he'd be able to keep himself awake throughout the rest of the dinner. It wouldn't do for him to fall asleep in his plate of caviar.

On the way back to his table, he didn't know why and he didn't bother trying to figure it out, he looked to his left. A mop of black hair made him pause. The head holding that hair turned slightly and Tom's breath quickened just a tiny bit. And then, as if sensing Tom's stare, the person turned his face completely, the shock on his features matching Toms.

Green eyes stared into dark ones.

-

-

TBC.

Pleasereview!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer; If I owned anything, I wouldn't be here.

Warnings; SLASH, AU.

A/N; Thanks for the reviews! ^^ Chinese New Year is here, so hopefully I'll be able to update more with all the extra time I _should _have. ;DDD Oh, there's something odd about this chapter. I don't quite like it but I have no idea why. I think it's the English. It's failing me. T.T

-

-

"You," was all Tom could manage and it seemed that Harry fared no better than he. But Harry was quick to slip behind his mask again, indifference sliding over his face. Tom hated this one of all the three he'd seen.

Tom gathered himself together. He had people to impress after all. Though he was a little put off that Harry had managed to wrap himself up faster than he, Tom didn't let it get to him. His competitive streak was rearing its head and he didn't need it ruining the good opinions about him back at his own table.

He schooled his features as he smirked at the younger man. "So, who are you entertaining tonight?"

He could see Harry bristle slightly, but not enough to be obvious. He still had that blank look on his face and Tom hated that he was once again on the receiving end of it. Inconspicuously, Tom ran his eyes over the table, noting the familiar blonde that he'd socked at the club along with three other unknown individuals.

The blonde's nose had a slight bump on its bridge but it seemed to work for him as he looked no less attractive. Nonetheless, it was an imperfection; an imperfection that Tom didn't have to boot.

He sent another smirk towards the blonde and was rather disappointed to find that the blonde simply assessed him with bored eyes. How many times was this going to happen?

With Harry, it was intriguing. With others, simply annoying.

Though his head screamed at him for justice to be done on behalf of his ego, he showed no sign of his growing annoyance as he glanced back at Harry who had turned his attention towards his food. The others seemed to take this as a sign that Tom had been dismissed and also returned to their food and idle conversation with one another.

Toms lips curled into a scowl. He gripped Harry's slender shoulder and twisted it, forcing Harry to turn his body back at him. He ignored the arousal that made a sudden appearance when Harry let out a soft painful gasp. From the corner of his eyes, he noticed the blonde's sudden tense figure.

Hum.

He wondered briefly if the two were in a relationship but was pulled away from his thoughts when he heard Harry hiss out at him. "Let _go_."

Tom bent his head closer to the green eyed man. "Not until you tell me why you left," he let his breath ghost over soft lips. "Without even a goodbye." Harry wrenched himself away, glaring holes into Tom's face. Well, it was better than the uninterested eyes he had been subjected to for far too often.

Harry's table mates seemed to be oblivious to their little conversation (with the exception of that bloody blonde) or were completely ignoring it. Assuming that Harry wouldn't associate himself with idiots, Tom figured it was the latter.

Harry's face was amused now, and Tom wondered if he had said anything particularly amusing. "My, I never thought you were the cuddly type," Harry seemed humorously entertained and Tom noticed that he had a cute dimples when he smiled.

What? Ew, no. He didn't just say cute. It must've been the heat.

He ignored the fact that the restaurant was fully air-conditioned.

Instead, Tom deliberately lidded his dark eyes, seduction lacing his every word, "I'm cuddly with every good lay." Harry raised an eyebrow, leaning away from the older man. "How 'bout another go?"

Harry burst out into unexpected laughter. "That was—" tears prickled at the corner of his eyes, and his grin practically split his tanned face into two.

Another personality? Easily amused? Fun?

Harry's cheeks were slightly flushed and Tom gave himself an invisible pat on the back for his wonderful success at making Harry laugh. . . even if it was at his expanse. And even though it wasn't a deliberate move (he was going for seduction after all), it was working in his favor. And too little good things have been coming his way so he'd take what he'd get.

No, Tom Riddle wasn't desperate. What was the saying? When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade. And Tom was working with that. So no, he was _not _desperate. In fact, the word wasn't even in his dictionary. . . not that he carried a dictionary.

But still, you get the point.

"Harry, we were going to watch that new musical tonight." Tom's eyes snapped to the direction of the smooth baritone. The blonde watched them with impassive eyes though Tom caught the slight twitch of his jaw.

"It's rude to stare," Tom snapped. There was something off with this blonde.

"It's rude to flirt with ones date," Blondie curled long fingers around Harry's shoulders. Tom eyed them in annoyance. Harry sighed, mocking disappointment.

"Sorry, Tom, 'fraid I won't be able to make it," the slender man gave a quick peck on the blonde's lips, before addressing Tom. "Draco's already bought me the best tickets. Can't let them go to waste now can I?"

Yes, you very well could.

"I see," Tom straightened up. "Perhaps your number then, so we can _get together._"

Harry glanced at his blonde companion—Draco, was it? He'd have to do some digging up—and pulled out a pen from the pocket of his well tailored suit. It clung to all the right places, leaving _so much _to the imagination to play with. He wore a white shirt underneath that fell perfectly, no creases and rumples. The shirt was tucked into a pair of casual black slacks that accented a very fine arse.

Mm, well tailored indeed.

Harry grabbed an unused tissue and quickly jotted down what Tom supposed was his number.

Long fingers tightened on Harry's shoulders and he noticed the small wince it received. With subtlety,—or not—Tom put his own fingers on the very in-demand shoulders. The long pale fingers of the blonde fell away from the intrusion of an unexpected addition.

Inwardly, Tom let out a whoop of joy. He ignored the intense gaze of a certain unhappy date burning into his head. Been there, done that.

Harry sent him a grateful smile, looking very, _very _appealing with his gaze from underneath thick black lashes.

Control, Tom. Control. Remember your karma.

With his free hand, he reached for the folded tissue, letting his fingers ghost over tanned ones. Before their contact ended completely, Tom bent his head down, kissing soft knuckles.

The intense glare increased tenfold.

"I'll be seeing you then, _Harry,_" his voice was sultry and low, sending shivers down Harry's spine.

Without a backwards glance, Tom strode away and returned to his table. He ignored all the questioning stares and instead directed his business partners gaze onto more pressing matters.

On their part, at least.

-

-

Draco held Harry by his waist as they exited the theater. In front of them, their friends walked, chatting happily about the great performances they had only just witnessed. Draco and Harry though, had a sullen mood around them.

Harry knew it was mostly his fault; for sleeping with another man the night before, ditching Draco for said man, flirting with. . . the very same man.

With Draco in vicinity.

That was probably not his smartest move.

He tilted his head to look at the blonde. Draco had a frown on his face, jaw tense and twitching slightly. Harry knew that Draco was probably thinking about the events that took place at the restaurant, and was feeling rather irritated about it.

That sent a pang of guilt through Harry. Hadn't Draco always been faithful? Hadn't he always taken care of Harry?

He had. And the thought that Draco put up with his infidelity made warmth spread through him. The guilt was still an everlasting emotion in him though.

This wasn't the first time it had happened, but Harry knew Draco wouldn't leave him. That was the one thing he was confident of in this ever changing world. Draco kept him rooted; he was a constant, something Harry knew he could always rely on.

And he found that he was sick of it. He found himself wanting to break way. He _wanted _to be thrust into the unknown, where he wouldn't be able to guess the outcomes of things, where everything was surprise, new and never dull.

Don't get him wrong, Draco was far from dull. But the fact that he could always tell how Draco would react to things set him off. There was a time where he craved that balance, but he was older now. He wanted something impulsive.

He paused in his tracks and Draco looked down at him questioningly. "I—I'm sorry," Harry suddenly blurted out before hiding his face into Draco's neck. He clutched Draco's coat, hiding the tears stinging his eyes. It was embarrassing to have this sudden break down in the middle of the street but it came unbidden.

Strong arms tightened comfortingly around him and Harry's tears fell, leaving wet tracks in their wake. He felt Draco burrow his face into Harry's hair as they embraced, oblivious to everything around them.

"I know," he heard Draco whisper. "I know."

For a moment, he imagined the tears that fell weren't only his.

But he always had the biggest imagination.

-

-

Tom fingered the soft tissue.

He had a serious dilemma. It could be considered life-changing. To call or not to call.

He didn't want to come off as eager (which he wasn't!) but he didn't want to look completely uninterested. Though he didn't think Harry would ever believe him uninterested. Not with the way he's been acting.

_So how 'bout another go?_

Cheesy. Cheesy. Cheesy.

He could have slapped himself. Really, Tom? Aren't you usually smoother?

He sat on the balcony, legs apart and elbows on his knees with a cigarette between his thin lips. In his hands was the root of all his problems.

_To call or not to call._

He'd left the restaurant only a couple of hours ago, his dinner-meeting a success. The only downfall of his night was the fact that Harry wouldn't be returning home with him. Instead, he walked out—not even sparing a tiny glance in Tom's direction—with that Draco boy.

Draco Malfoy.

Oh, he'd done his research. He knew Malfoy Sr. after all. They were business rivals and how ironic was it that his son would be his rival for a certain green eyed man's attention. Not that the little Malfoy would be much of an obstacle. The only reason he wanted to get rid of the brat was simply because of his selfish desire to have Harry look at no one but him.

If Harry ever had a kid—though he doubted he ever would—Tom would get rid of it. Let if never be said that his mother taught him how to share.

Malfoy must've known what had transpired that night. There's no way he didn't.

But he accepted Harry back and was strangely calm (for someone who's boyfriend had been unfaithful). Now that was odd. Tom knew that he'd be spitting acid while simultaneously stabbing every happy couple that walked by him. No, scratch that. Forget every couple. He'd be stabbing anyone with so much of a smile on their face.

If he wasn't happy then no one else would be allowed to be. And the people that were already unhappy with their crappy lives, well, Tom wasn't mean enough to make it worst.

On his great days.

Right. Back to his problem.

Something was seriously wrong with him. When had he ever had this problem? He used to take anything and everything, indifferent to other's feelings. But now he wanted Harry to want him. He wanted the man to pin for him and only him.

Tom sighed tiredly. He'd call tomorrow. It wasn't too early to look desperate and needy yet not late enough to show lack of interest.

He stood from his sitting position and snubbed the cigarette. He stretched languidly, loosening his tense muscles. How long had he been sitting there?

He slipped back into the apartment and took a glance at the clock hanging above the flat screen television that he'd bought from the winnings of a very successful Vegas trip.

1.30 a.m.

He'd been out there for nearly two hours. Why, time flies when you're in denial.

He pulled out a carton of apple juice from the refrigerator and absent mindedly poured its content into a glass. His mind was still on Harry though not on the issue of when he should contact the man. Now it was what he was going to do with him.

He didn't spare Malfoy another thought. He'd deal with that when the time came.

Taking a sip of the juice, he wondered if Harry was into bondage. Maybe he'd let Tom do a little experimenting.

Then again, Harry didn't seem like the type to just let someone take control of him. Well, the indifferent Harry. Maybe the bubbly one would let him have his fun. And Tom would _not _be the one tied up. He drew the line there.

He set his glass onto the low table as he plopped gracefully onto his leather couch. The feeling of leather was cool to his skin and he suddenly felt that having a body sprawled over him this very moment wouldn't be a very bad idea.

Okay, so he was the cuddly type. But only with certain people! And that was very rare and far in between.

He switched on the television, not really watching but going through the motions of it. Pictures flashed by his eyes, bright in the dim lighted room.

Suddenly, he felt overwhelmingly sleepy. His eyes fluttered shut, and he let himself fall into blissful slumber. Tom dropped to his side, as if falling unconscious. Though in this case, it very might as well be. He was sprawled across the couch in what looked to be a very uncomfortable position; body half twisted, legs off the couch and head tilted back. Yes, Tom would wake up very sore. And not in a good way either.

His dreams consisted of green. As far as the eye could see, green. Like a meadow, or an emerald ocean. And Tom stood in the middle of it. Like a whirlpool it sucked him in, pulling him deeper and deeper. Tom didn't mind so much. Because green was officially his favourite colour.

-

-

The annoying chirps of mating birds on his balcony and the sound of the television woke Tom up. He groaned, feeling his muscles protesting. His back ached and his neck had this painful crick that would just not go _away._ The sun was shining its ultra bright light into his sensitive eyes and this was so not the way people were meant to wake up.

Especially good looking people who needed their beauty sleep to stay perfect.

He sat up slowly, rotating the twisted muscles. His eyes squinted in the light, trying to adjust itself but he was able to make out the time. It was half past eight and he flopped back with another groan. This time it was one of displeasure. Really, he had the weirdest sleeping habits.

He adjusted his body to a more comfortable position than the one before. His legs fell off the arm rest but at least he wasn't a pretzel anymore. Tom covered his eyes with an arm, trying to block out the sun light. He was tempted to shut the curtains but was too lazy to actually get up and do it.

It was times like these that he needed another person around the house. Someone to close curtains and shoot birds for him. Briefly, he wondered if Harry had a good aim.

Harry!

He shot up much like he did when he found said man missing from his bed. A feeling of déjà vu came over him but he pushed it aside.

He had to call him, make pans for the night before someone else got to him. He was in the midst of dialing the number he had long ago (within a few minutes of receiving the number) memorized before it struck him that it was eight. In the bloody morning. Harry wasn't likely to be awake at this time.

Tom settled himself back down; embarrassed by his own eagerness despite the fact that no one was around to see it.

Knowing that there was no way he'd be able to fall back to sleep, Tom went about his daily routine. He brushed his teeth, left to right, bottom before the top. He cleansed his face with the same cleanser he continued to buy since high school. It's worked perfectly so far so he never found the need to buy others of different varieties.

He continued the routine with his morning shave. He couldn't stand having stubble. It was itchy and irritating and made him want to scratch so bad whenever he was shoving his tongue down someone's throat. He did _not _like his snogging sessions interrupted.

He rinsed off the excess cream and inspected his face for imperfections. Seeing none, Tom stripped himself off his constricting clothes and stepped into the shower. Warm water cascaded down his back, easing the aches he was feeling.

As soon as he was done washing the soap off his body and shampoo off his hair, he stepped out of the spacious cubicle and grabbed the soft white tower hanging on a hook on the back of the door.

He wrapped it around his waist loosely, not bothering with decency as he was the only one in the apartment.

He reentered the living room and eyed the tissue that was set on the coffee table looking innocent and not at all like the mental threatening tool that had been pushing him into insanity only a couple of hours ago. He didn't need it anymore but decided that he'd keep it anyway. Just in case.

He'd call Harry after breakfast and make plans for dinner.

But what Tom was really excited about though, was the activities taking place _after _dinner.

Tom was convinced of his failing sanity as he looked back on the last two days. A week ago he would have laughed and pushed down the person who'd ever suggest that he, Tom Riddle would be pining like a high school girl with her first crush after a boy he'd met at a club.

Now though, he would _hesitate_ before laughing and pushing said suggester down. That had to mean something.

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-

Please review!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer; If I owned anything, I wouldn't be here.

Warnings; SLASH, AU

A/N; Okay, so Chinese New Year didn't give me more time. No wait, it did! The real problem was this half assed computer that always seems to break down when I have something to do. T.T

I'm SORRY but hey, better late than never huh? Anyway, here you go! Enjoy!

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Tom closed the door with a bang. He slipped off his shoes and plopped onto the leather couch. Breakfast was good, he had his favourite meal at a tasteful café just across the street of his apartment. They made the best coffee and knew the most delicious recipe for pancakes.

Even now he could still taste the maple syrup on his tongue.

Tom licked his lips in thought. He glanced down to the coffee table. The crumpled tissue stained with ink stared back at him. His heart gave a nervous thump.

No, Tom, be confident. You're the player. You're the one he wants.

. . . Forget that you're the one calling.

He took out his cell phone and typed in the number he'd memorized the night before. His fingers tapped the glass table, the sound loud in the otherwise silent room.

He help the speaker to his ear, waiting for the man he'd spent so much time thinking over pick up.

Finally, after what seemed to feel like hours, Harry picked up.

"Hello?" he said, his voice low and seductive.

"If you're selling something, kiss my ass. If you want a fuck, I've got AIDs. If you're my mother, I didn't murder dad." Wait a minute. This was _not _Harry.

"Is this a prank call? I swear to God, you mother fucking asshole—"

Tom hung up. That little tosser. How _dare _he give me a random number?!

Tom was still in shock half an hour later.

He—number—murder dad—Harry—

No way. He wouldn't let the little minx get away with this. With an outraged growl, Tom dialed up his secretary. "Jenny!"

"Sir?" came the frightened voice. It wasn't the first time she's been subjected to Tom's ugly temper but everytime she was, it never failed to terrify her.

"Find out everything you can about Draco Malfoy. I want to know where he goes and with who. I want every little detail. Leave nothing out," he was seething and wasn't sure if he had the restraint to not completely destroy his apartment.

"And if there's even a _mention _of the name 'Harry' contact me immediately," he could hear the scribbling of a pen from the other side of the receiver. "Is—that all sir?"

"That's all. Drop everything else until I have what I want," he snapped the phone shut.

He kicked the table, overturning it. His eyes flashed red and an unfamiliar pain in his chest made itself known. He clutched at the fabric above his furiously beating heart. What _is _this?

Was Harry laughing at him behind his back? Was he mocking him with his blonde boy-toy?

The thought pushed Tom to his breaking point. No one played with Tom and lived to tell the tale. He threw the device in his hand and felt only a small sliver of satisfaction when he heard it smash against the wall.

He tried to control his breathing, taking deep breaths while counting from one to ten. It helped calm him down, but Tom could still feel that annoying ache that would _just not go away._

He wiped the perspiration off his forehead, and closed his eyes. When he saw the green eyed man again—

He would not be held responsible for his actions.

-

-

About two hours after his call with Jenny, another ringing assaulted his ears. Tiredly, though it was only twelve in the afternoon, he made his way to the bedroom. His bedside drawer was vibrating and a familiar ringtone played along with it. He pulled it open to pick up the second cell phone he kept on hand just in case.

He flipped the cell phone open and didn't even bother with a hello when he addressed the caller. "What did you find?"

"Uh—" there was some shuffling before Jenny replied. "There isn't much on the Malfoy boy," Tom didn't let his disappointment show. No, that didn't mean he was going to give up looking for Harry, it just meant that he'd have to do it by himself.

The saying was true, if you want something done right, do it yourself.

"But there were a few mentions the other boy, Harry in some of the articles that I found." Or you could get a capable secretary like he did.

"Well, get on with it, " his growl was her reward.

"They went to school together. This article," more shuffling. "Was written be a high school reporter about four years ago. They were in the same tennis club."

High school sweethearts? Tom didn't like that. Not one bit.

"Apparently, this Harry boy was the star player on the team," Jenny continued. "He brought home the National trophy in his senior year—which was three years ago." Three years huh? That meant that Harry was around twenty. His guess on the man's age was close.

"Oh!"

"What is it?" He snapped.

"His last name, it's familiar, I just can't seem to place it. . ." Jenny trailed off. Tom held back his anger.

"Potter. Did we know any Potters?" Tom's eyes widened dramatically before his lips curled into a cruel smirk.

Potter. The boy was a Potter.

Now this was an interesting story. He didn't know them directly, but his father did. They owed his old man a debt, he remembered. He could recall their inability to pay and his father's words to him the night he sent his crony's to get rid of the Potters.

"In a world like this, you have to take what you can. Forget living and let live," his father's eyes were as cold and unfeeling as they had always been. "Do all you must to survive, son. Because no one else will live for you."

He told no one, of course. But that principle he carried with him, never forgetting the words of his deceased father. He may have not loved his father, he may not have cared for him but he would always, _always _respect the man.

But back to the subject of Potters. Apparently his father wasn't as careful as he thought himself to be if the son of the Potters was alive and well.

He wondered how much Harry knew of his parent's death. Did he know enough to connect Tom to it, or did he know so little that he could be called ignorant.

His smirk widened as the wheels in his head turned. "Jenny, forget Malfoy, I want you to dig up information on Harry Potter instead," the mattress of his king sized bed It dipped slightly with his weight as he sat heavily onto it.

"But—" he hung up without a goodbye.

He fell back onto the bed, smirk still in place. He was certain that Jenny would be able to discover the address of Harry's current residence. And when she did, the younger man wouldn't know what hit him.

He'd give Harry the surprise of his life.

He closed his eyes for a moment, suddenly feeling overwhelmingly sleepy. He didn't get much sleep and that fault lies with that fake, god forsaken number. The thought made him bristle all over again. But his limbs felt too weak to cause anymore damage to his home.

Plus, he didn't want to have to go shopping for household appliances.

Not that he'd do it himself. But having to think about buying them was—okay, he was going to just shut his mind up now. Sleep sounded very, very inviting at the moment and Tom didn't have it in him to stay awake.

So with a sigh, he let dreams of green take over. Much like they did the night before. And distantly, while he was already wrapped in the silk of subconscious fantasies, Tom wondered if he would have dreams of green for a long time coming.

Something told him that he would.

-

-

He was pulled out of slumber from an insistent ringing entirely too close to his ear. The annoying ringtone—why didn't he change it—was coming from his flashing phone which must've fell out from his grip and onto the bed. Right next to his ear.

He hoped his eardrums weren't damaged. He was meant to be perfect, inside and out. And that meant in every possible way.

He groaned. He was tempted to just reject the call but the need to know if there was anything on his Harry was too great to be ignored for a moment longer. He sat up against the head board as he received the call from his secretary.

She didn't bother greeting him, knowing that he would much prefer getting on to business. She didn't know who this Harry person was, but he must mean _something—_as impossible as it was—to Tom and that was entirely rare, no, _nonexistent. _And when there was something Tom wanted, he got. He'd step on you, run you over, spit in your face to get what he wanted. Hell, you might be the only reason he'd got what he was looking for and he'd still treat you like dirt.

So when he asked something of her, she delivered. After all, she needed a job and this was mighty fine paying one. She wasn't about to lose it and she'd be damned if anyone else got it either.

"Sir? There's not much on his either, perhaps slightly more than the Malfoy boy but there aren't any personal details. Only his age—" she was cut off by Tom who was feeling both groggy and excited at the same time.

"Yes, yes. Just give me his address. Or were you so incompetent to have not got at least that much?" His tone was cold but she bounced back, unaffected. She was used to the unfeeling Tom, not so much the angered one. And truth be told, she's rather live with a thousand ice cold Tom's than one angry Tom.

"They have it here," she paused, obviously looking for the piece of information. "He lives in the Upper East side of Manhattan along 2nd Avenue. " Tom smiled, though there was nothing gentle or soft in the curl of his lips.

"He stays in Hallow's Apartment, room 810 on the—er, eight floor, obviously."

Well, it seemed his little minx lived not too far away. He licked his lips. Suppose he gave the man a surprise visit right this instance. The idea bloomed in his mind, looking more promising by the minute.

His mind went in every direction. Imagine the things he'd do, the _punishment _he'd give. Like this morning, his libido seemed to do the talking for him and his anger had turned from full blown rage into full blown lust instead.

"Good job, Jenny, I'm giving you a raise," he declared, satisfied for the time being. His mood would be further tested later on when he put his wooing plans into action.

"Really? Oh, thank--!" he hung up on her, yet again. Tom practically hoped off the bed and made his way to the bathroom; he needed to look fresh for the very anticipated confrontation. He shrugged off his clothes. Though he had taken a shower just this morning, he felt as if he should look his absolute best if he were to steal Harry from the Malfoy brat (again, he would like to clarify that he, in no way, sees Malfoy junior as a threat. He was merely an obstacle for Tom to overcome).

He decided that there was no point denying the strange obsession he held for Harry. There was something there, good or bad he was still unsure. But his heart thumped in painful and liberating ways when thoughts of the green eyed man popped up.

So far, painful thumps against his ribcage had occurred more often than what he supposed should have been pleasant ones. But that would all change. He didn't know how relationships were meant to work, but he'd give it a try.

Tom felt that if being away from the man made his feel this way, imagine the feelings that would course through him when they were together.

The thought both thrilled and scared him. Apparently, Harry had subjected him to many foreign emotions. Emotions he had not felt since he was a child; a defenseless child left in a world of adults.

As soon as he was done refreshing himself, he padded over to his dresser. He picked out casual clothes; black slacks and a simple blue shirt. He slipped it on and after admiring himself in full length mirror, he snatched up his keys from the counter to visit the object of his attention.

The drive was short and he'd almost run over an old man crossing the street. Well, it wasn't his fault. The man was wearing the most ghastly clothes; a purple robe covered in bright yellow stars. He was just _begging _to be run over.

Luckily though, the old man had jumped out of the way just in time. How the old man had those kind of reflexes, Tom didn't know.

He sped through the streets of New York, eager to reach his destination. Again, luck seemed against him as the roads were unusually busy. He got caught in traffic more times than he could count. By the time he swerved (or attempted to swerve) into Harry's street, an hour had already passed.

He parked his car between two others and prayed to God that his baby would remain untouched and undamaged when he returned. Locking the doors twice, just in case, Tom hoped that Harry was home.

In his haste to see the young man, Tom hadn't bothered with the prospect that said man would be absent. Now that he was here though, he severely hoped, for the good of his already chaotic mood, that Harry had no plans what so ever for at least a couple of hours. Though Tom hoped that he'd have no plans for the few years, lest if it was with him.

He shook his head. Look suave, Tom, he told himself. Everyone liked confidence.

His foot tapped the floor impatiently as the elevator dinged its way up.

1—2—3—4—5—6—7—8

DING.

Tom took a breath and plastered on his trademarked smirk. Not like he had anything _else _to plaster on. He stepped out of the elevator, ignoring the little girl appeared out of nowhere that was persistently tugging on his pants. He scanned the hallway, looking for the apartment number 810.

He spotted it up ahead, near the fire escape staircase and made his way towards it. The little girl was now hanging onto his leg, bouncing with every step he took. His eye twitched but made no move to remove the seemingly human parasite from his person.

But he couldn't very well take her with him into Harry's apartment now could he? She would be going in uninvited and that would just be _so _rude. Tom couldn't stand ill-mannered kids.

They were worse than just kids.

But he could stand hypocrites.

So he picked her up by the scruff of her neck, much like you would do to a kitten and held her up. "You need to run along now," he said, neither cold nor cooing.

She stared at him with wide blue eyes, tilting her head. The little girl reached her arms forwards, surprising Tom with her impossible strength as she clutched him around his neck.

What were parents feeding their children?!

"No," she mumbled. Tom sighed frustrated, he had some sexing up to do after all. He tried to pull her off, but she gripped the fabric of his shirt, rumpling it. "Alright, devil spawn, what do you want? Lollipop? A piggy back?"

Her eyes widened further, and she grinned. "All! All!"

"No, you selfish thing, pick one! This is life, you don't always get what you want!" Tom quickly grew irritated. Her lips dropped into a pout and those damnably wide eyes filled with moisture.

No-ho-ho-ho, pouting didn't work with him.

. . . Half an hour later, an exhausted Tom Riddle slumped against the wall, boneless. He sucked in polluted air, mentally cursing the blue eyed witch from hell.

"There! Done! I gave you your piggy back, bought you a lollipop, gave you two nickels of my hard earned money, sang you Barney's theme song, what else do you want?!" He was in complete disarray with his messed up hair, rumpled clothes, flushed complexion and . . .was that child drool on his sleeve?!

The reason for all his woes looked back at him, lips in a pout he'd familiarized himself (however unwilling) with over the last half hour. "You deceiving four year old! I will not succumb to your Satan worshipping ways!" He glared at her, resisting the ridiculous urge to stick his tongue out and pull on her pigtails.

"My, Tom, what a way to speak to a kid. You're a natural." Tom shot off from the ground, even more irritated at having been found in such an uncomely fashion.

Harry stood in the doorway of his apartment, amusement in his stance and expression. Damn, there goes his element of surprise. With as much dignity he could master, Tom smoothed back his hair and attempted a flirty smile.

"You were watching me?"

Harry snorted. In an utterly cute way that Tom couldn't help noticing. Another thing he noticed was the large shirt the younger man was wearing. It slipped off one shoulder, exposing smooth tanned flesh to Tom's hungry eyes. The hem of said shirt reached mid thighs and Tom was unsure as to whether Harry was wearing anything underneath.

Tom licked his lips, not even realizing he'd done.

"It's hard not to get curious when hearing someone shout obscenities to your neighbor's child," Harry still looked amused as he glanced between Tom and the dejected four year old behind him. Tom narrowed his eyes.

"Well, if you were watching, why didn't you bloody help?" Tom's eye twitched eighty kilometers per hour. Harry shrugged, making the shirt slip further down his shoulder. Despite his irritation, Tom's eyes followed the movement.

"It was cute."

He raised a speculative eyebrow. "Cute? Me cursing your neighbor's kid is cute?" Shrug.

Harry addressed the girl, his green eyes kind and soft, "Go on Gabrielle, I'm sure your mother's worried about you." Tom wondered which mask Harry was wearing today. Mother hen? Perhaps. Though he wasn't sure. The green eyed man could just have a soft spot for little destructioneers.

The girl nodded sadly and after a watery glance in Tom's direction—which he pointedly ignored—she ran to the elevator. Once she disappeared, Tom asked, "You said she was your neighbor."

"She is. Two floors down."

Harry turned around, swaying his hips as he walked further into his apartment. Tom followed. Hey, he left the door open and Tom knew an invitation when he saw one.

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TBC.

Review please!


	5. Chapter 5

Warnings; SLASH, AU

Disclaimer; I own nothing but the plot.

A/N; YAYS, FIFTH CHAPTER! ;DD This one was really hard to write though I have no idea why. But I hope you guys like it!

REVIEW!

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Tom followed Harry into the apartment, closing the door softly behind him. His eyes were still trained on Harry's back, no doubt burning with eagerness.

He ran a hand through his dark locks, licking his lips. He hadn't stopped thinking about the green eyed man for days and now that they were finally alone, Tom could feel his excitement increase tenfold. Harry looked over his shoulder, blinking his green eyes.

"Do you want anything to drink?" The slighter man made his way to the small but neat kitchen. Tom looked around.

The apartment was cozy, to say the least. It had every necessity, and nothing extra save for a few picture frames hung on the walls or on the tables. The front door led to the living room which had its own balcony, much like Tom's. But where Tom's view was off the city, Harry's faced the apartment building across from him.

On the right there was two doors; one probably a bathroom and the other was most likely Harry's bedroom. Hm, bedroom. Tom's eyes glazed over again.

He remembered the sweet taste on his tongue and the feel of soft skin against his.

He could still feel the breath on his face and the image of a debauched Harry underneath him was as clear as day.

"Tom?" his head snapped up.

Harry looked at him worriedly. "Are you alright? You're a bit flushed." Harry came to stand beside him, and leaned up slightly. He pressed a cool hand to Tom's forehead, and Tom felt his temperature rise again.

So—close—

He glanced down into the bipolar man's eyes, seeing himself reflected through the bright green irises. He saw himself bend his neck, he saw himself part his lips and soon he got too close to see anything at all so he simply let his eyes slip close. He felt Harry's pouty lips against his, and he wrapped his arms around a trim waist.

The kiss was so. . . soft. So chaste. So _unlike him._

He didn't deepen the kiss; only tightening his hold on Harry's supple body.

Harry pulled away first and Tom was about to complain when Harry's lips returned.

With a vengeance.

Tom groaned, feeling a slick tongue slide against his. He wouldn't lose the match of dominance though (he was a total alpha male after all!) so he spun them around and pushed Harry up the closest wall. The man moaned but didn't relinquish his place in Tom's mouth. They continued fighting for dominance, nipping and sucking.

Tom pressed himself closer, loving the feel of the lithely built man against him. They rocked slowly, mouths never the other's.

He felt Harry's slender fingers move from their place on his shoulders to bury themselves in his dark locks. Harry pulled fiercely, snapping Tom's head backwards and exposing his throat. Tom looked at him through lust filled eyes and felt his arousal amplify by the erotic picture Harry presented.

The younger man's eyes was blazing, a wicked gleam in them; his lips were swollen and bruised and his cheeks flushed an attractive red. The white shirt Harry wore slipped lower down his shoulder, exposing to Tom's eyes smooth tanned skin.

He could have orgasmed right there.

But he held it back, wanting to relish a little more on the foreplay. He let Harry lick way down his throat, nipping occasionally at the sensitive skin. He released an animalistic groan when Harry reached his collar bone, paying a little too much attention on a very, very sensitive spot.

Tom slipped his arms tighter around Harry's waist, almost molding them together.

When Harry was finished abusing Tom's neck he pulled away to admire his handiwork. He was impressed, if he did say so himself. A large red mark flawed Tom's otherwise flawless skin, standing out against the paleness of the man's neck.

There was a possessive look in Harry's eyes; more than likely part of another personality as Tom hadn't seen that glint in any of the previous ones.

Tom smirked. Courting Harry was going to be a breeze.

"Oh, Tom, I poured some orange juice for you. Is that alright?" Within a blink of an eye, Harry went from being in Tom's arms to the kitchen counter across the room.

He held up a glass of coloured liquid and Tom was sure that he had a very visible vein throbbing on his temple. The tease.

And he had the _gall _to look innocent and not take notice of the painful bulge in Tom's pants.

When Tom only looked at him blankly, he raised the glass, and tilted his head. "You don't like orange juice?"

Tom sighed and forced himself not to think that a tilted head Harry was cute. "No, it's fine." He added a 'though I wish I was getting a different kind of juice right now,' mentally. So maybe courting Harry Potter wouldn't be as easy as he thought.

Not with those ever changing attitudes coming in between.

He walked over to the wide-eyed and very cute Harry, took the glass from him and planted a firm kiss onto plump lips. He found himself preening with satisfaction at the blush that flared down Harry's neck.

Turning his back to the man, Tom swaggered over to the couch. He took a gulp of the juice and set it on the wooden coffee table. When he realized Harry wasn't moving from his place, Tom looked over his shoulder at the still blushing man.

"Harry," he purred. "Come here." Almost robotically Harry came closer. Tom had a painful tent in his pants, and he'd be damned if Harry didn't follow through. Despite the fact that he'd already admitted to himself that he wanted Harry for more than just sex, his body craved the other man's touch.

Whether just a brief caress or full blown skin-on-skin action, Tom craved it. It didn't matter to him that he'd only known Harry for a few days, it didn't matter that he knew nothing of commitment, it didn't matter that Harry probably had many lovers.

All he knew was that he wanted this man, and that there'd be plenty of time to get to know Harry better, practice commitment and castrate previous and potential lovers once he and Harry officially hooked up.

The couch dipped under added weight and Tom leaned back in his seat, glancing at Harry from the corner of his eyes. Really, he had to get Harry proper sized shirts. God forbid anyone from seeing him like this; delectable and oh-so-sexy.

He held his arms wide open and Harry obediently crawled into his waiting arms. No, he was _not _a cuddler. But Harry seemed to make him contradict everything he'd ever thought of himself. Feeling Harry's body warmth through their clothes, he found that he didn't really mind so much.

The green eyed man snuggled into his embrace, fitting so perfectly against his bigger frame. Harry nuzzled his neck; an action that did nothing to help the ache in his southern regions.

Tom breathed in deeply, exhaling through his nose.

Harry's hair tickled his jaw, and he looked down to gaze at the man. He felt the sudden need to clear his throat.

Before he could get up, Harry's slender fingers made themselves know to his face. They trailed from his sharp cheekbones to his sharp jaw line and split up; one down his neck and the other on his lips. "Harry—"

"Just relax, let me—" Harry leaned up. "Take care of you," Tom was transfixed, unable to move closer or further (not that he wanted to, mind you).

The sound of sharp knocks on the front door made Harry jump and Tom growl in frustration.

"Harry? Harry, are you in?" The sound of a male voice vibrated through the door. A very familiar voice. Harry sat up, and Tom quickly grasped hold of his wrist. "It's Draco," Harry said coldly, snatching his wrist away. Tom stared at him in shock. Well, maybe he shouldn't be in so much shock but that didn't mean he wasn't.

Harry walked away from him and towards the front door. He burned with anger. The Malfoy brat. The annoying Malfoy brat that dared to disrupt his lovely Harry time. He heard the click of the door and the Malfoy's annoying voice drifted into the living room. "You didn't answer my calls—" clingy little bastard. "Took you awhile to get to the door too, you usually come running—" God, what a girl. "and you're awfully quiet—"

"Maybe he just doesn't feel like talking," Tom snapped, feeling a headache coming.

Awkward silence.

Tom snorted. Like he gave a rat's arse.

"Riddle," electricity sizzled between the two. Harry looked oblivious. Yeah, right, Tom thought.

"Well, I'll go get more juice!" Harry skipped away, the previous cold attitude gone.

Tom got off the couch gracefully to face the Malfoy. They both stood their ground, neither willing to back down. The sizzling electricity became a right out thunderstorm. "Stay away from Harry," Draco was the first to break the silence, stance tense and stiff.

"He came to me," Tom said smugly.

"Funny that seeing as how you're in his house," Draco raised an eyebrow. Damn, that was stupid.

"He brought me here," Tom covered up smoothly. He snuck a glance at Harry; he didn't look as if he heard anything. And even if he did, he wasn't calling it out on Tom. That worked just fine.

"Bull," Draco was smirking. Tom felt like bashing his head in. "Harry doesn't bring anyone home."

But Tom controlled his violent urge and threw the blonde a superior smirk. "Then I'm a first."

That must've struck a nerve for the blonde's smirk evaporated into an angry frown. Interesting . "He wouldn't."

"Obviously you don't know him so well then," Inner Tom was bouncing up and down. Ah, Tom, you're so cool.

Draco's eyes blazed a fiery grey. "Whatever you have, whatever you _think _you have, I have a thousand times better." Tom didn't know what to say to that so he gave a little shrug and glanced off to the side. He knew for a fact that shrugging off someone was a million times more irking than shooting a comeback.

No one liked to be shrugged off. No one liked to be irrelevant.

And Draco Malfoy was no exception.

Before the younger blonde could take out a gun and shoot him dead, Harry came back with juice on a silver platter. Tom would never admit it, but Draco Malfoy was pretty scary when angered. But Tom was scarier. He was older and therefore much, much more terrifying.

Roar.

Harry set the tray on the coffee table and reintroduced his lovely bum to the couch. Tom would like to get reacquainted with _Harry _but with the meddlesome Malfoy, that probably wouldn't happen. So he sat himself down, right beside Harry and perhaps a tad more closer than was necessary.

Malfoy sneered at him before taking a seat on the lonely, sad, Harry-less chair. Take that, little boy.

"So," the two tense men turned their attention to Harry. "Isn't this lovely?" Awkward silence.

"I said, _isn't this lovely?_" Oh god, a diva-Harry. Isn't there a limit to bipolarity?

Both Tom and Dracomurmured their agreement, neither feeling the_ loveliness_ that Harry seemed to be experiencing.

Harry beamed at them, his teeth flashing. "Oh," his features lighted up. "Aren't you going to try my juice?" He gestured to the two glasses sitting innocently on the table.

"I'll pass," Tom looked off to the side, waving the green eyed man off. A cold atmosphere settled around him. "You don't want my juice?" Though Harry's voice was soft, Tom felt as though someone had poured cold water over his head.

He shivered and looked back at the man. Harry had a sharp look in his eye. Over his shoulder Tom saw Draco smirk at him before sipping his juice. Obviously, the blonde knew his way around Harry's multiple personalities. Damn the smug bastard.

He was torn in two. One half of him wanted to just give into Harry's whims (no matter how small) and the other half—the stubborn and proud half—wanted to say 'If I don't want juice then I'm not going to have _any bloody juice.'_

Because really, he was his own man! He had pride! He wasn't Harry's little pet—trailing after him and playing dead whenever it struck Harry's fancy.

No way, no way, no way. He was born of aristocracy. He was Tom Riddle, ruthless and merciless. He was—

"I meant, _pass Malfoy the juice_," he muttered, feeling pathetic.

Harry blinked widely at him. "Draco's already got his juice."

"My mistake then. I meant, _pass me the juice_," Harry looked at him oddly. "You're acting strange, Tom."

Tom huffed in a very dignified way. Look at yourself, he wanted to say. But he didn't.

And he consoled himself with the thought that Harry was amazing in bed. And people who were amazing in bed deserved a little special treatment from him. Yeah, that's it.

He heard Malfoy chuckle.

Quickly, he stole a kiss from Harry's lips as the man turned to give him his glass of orange juice. With a stoic face he took the glass from a blushing Harry and gulped down the drink.

He needed some scotch.

Three—two—

Oh look, not even three seconds and Malfoy Junior was seething bloody murder.

Tee hee, one for Tom. "Harry, you didn't bring anything for yourself, have some of mine," Draco smiled charmingly, offering his drink to Harry.

. . . Indirect kissing!

Now, this wasn't a big deal but for some reason the smallest things set Tom off. Especially when it concerned Harry. Actually, _only _Harry. Nothing and no one else could get Tom the way he was except for this green eyed, black haired minx. And they haven't even known each other for long!

Only a couple of days and three meetings and Tom was already wrapped around those slender fingers. What an embarrassment.

. . . well, maybe not so much since he obviously wasn't the only one the man had eating out of his palm.

"Ah, thanks," he watched as Harry took the glass from Malfoy's outstretched hand, their fingers brushing and lingering for a bit too long. Harry took a sip (which was odd 'cause no one _sips _juice) and handed the drink back to Draco. He sent a small smile to the blonde and was gifted with an equally small smile.

Tom had never felt like an outsider before. He supposed he should cross that bit out of his list of things to do before he died.

Crossing his legs and reclining back, Tom surveyed the two from beneath his lids. He didn't know what they were talking about and wasn't feeling the need to know. So long as there was no touching then he was fine. They conversed with a familiarity. Something Tom had never experienced before. He'd never had someone close enough to be familiar with.

Harry was using his hands to gesture and exaggerate while Malfoy nodded and occasionally put his two cents in. It was weird, seeing them like this. The two probably had some romantic history between them, what with the way they were interacting.

Or perhaps it was unrequited love. On Malfoy's part of course.

Tom tuned back in, catching the last bits of their conversation. "—is he? Uncle Lu's been awfully quiet. I used to get calls almost everyday."

Draco snickered. "He's just bitter is all. It'll blow over."

Harry still looked worried though so Draco was quick to reassure him. "Don't worry, you know how he throws fits all the time."

"But it's never been directed at me," Harry seemed to curl in on himself and in a show of rare (if not ever) affection, Tom put a strong arm around the slender shoulders, pulling Harry close to his side. The man slumped against him, deflated.

Raising an eyebrow, Tom looked at the Malfoy. Uncle Lu? There was no way that stoic, cold hearted, puppy kicking Lucious Malfoy would _ever _allow anyone to address him as such.

Uncle Lu.

Silent snicker.

The younger Malfoy glared at him, as if sensing his thoughts. My, he didn't know that the Malfoy family was so tightly knit (something that was becoming scarce in the families of today). And judging by what he heard, Harry was included as well.

There was so much about Harry that he wanted to know. As he looked out the window, he wondered if Harry knew of his parent's death. He wondered if Lucius Malfoy played a part in their unfortunate end. Perhaps he did, perhaps he didn't. Whatever it is, Tom knew not to be digging around in buried matters.

It would only get messy.

"Tom?"

Tom turned to the man leaning so trustingly against him and his heart did a little flip.

A little one. No biggie.

"Lunch out?" Harry was already getting up and Tom felt cool air brush his empty side. He let himself be pulled up and saw that Malfoy was already at the door. Wow, fast.

"Let's use my car," Tom said, following Harry out the door. The Malfoy kid held the door open for Harry and as Tom was stepping through, promptly released it. If it wasn't for his quick reflexes, Tom swore that he'd have broken his nose or something.

What a shame that would've been. Riddle's had the most regal noses. They couldn't risk getting them broken.

He sneered at the blonde while Harry sighed in exasperation.

Men will be men he supposed.

He didn't even get two steps away before he was pulled back by two sets of hands and two distinctive voices telling him to change into something more decent.

What was wrong with what he was wearing anyway?

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TBC.

Hee, Harry and his juice.


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